A Taste of Something
by Commander Jane Shepard
Summary: Hannibal gets free earlier in Silence of the Lambs. Clarice goes to see him for some help with the case.


"Tell me about your mother, Clarice."

She flinched. Their little game was coming to a screeching halt. The Martin girl was going to die, damn it.

"She was a woman. She gave birth to me."

"Tsk, tsk. Such hostility, Agent Starling. If you would prefer, you may take your leave. Just give Senator Martin my regards at the coroner's office." He turned, as if he had dismissed her. She bristled, flushing in annoyance.

"Doctor Lecter, I really need more information-"

"Then you will tell me details about the woman who gave birth to you. Remember, don't lie. Catherine Martin won't like it if you do."

She ground her teeth.

Lecter smirked.

"You already know that she sent me away when I was young. After the ranch, she still didn't want me back. So I stayed at the orphanage."

"With Hannah the blind horse, yes. I remember. Why didn't she want you back, Clarice?"

"I never asked her."

"You're evading. Why do you think she didn't want you back?"

Clarice swallowed, trying not to trudge through the painful memories. They came anyway, and she was forced to navigate the battlefield on her own. "She found a new husband. Had my siblings' names changed to his. She probably knew I wouldn't go for that."

"She was your legal guardian. She could have done so without your consent."

"Yeah, well... I look like my daddy. I'm sure that played a part."

Lecter's eyes glowed, like he'd already figured out what she hadn't said. With some trepidation, she looked up to his gaze. Starling's fears were confirmed the moment he spoke.

"Your new step-daddy didn't want you around. You still remembered the Night Watchman, while your younger siblings were able to have their slates wiped mostly clean. He wanted to erase all memory of your dead father. Isn't that right, Clarice?"

A beat. "Yes."

"And your mother went along with it. How did that make you feel?"

She didn't have time for this. A girl was going to die, damn it! But Clarice knew that arguing with him on this point wouldn't produce anything favorable. She'd waste time, and still end up spilling her guts.

"I hated her. After I got out of the orphanage, she wrote me a letter. I burned it without ever opening it."

"Curious," he said, as if she wasn't bearing her soul to him, and instead, was just relaying the week's weather forcast. "You hate her, and yet you still think of her sometimes, don't you? You draw yhour courage and strength from your father, but what do you draw from dear old Mommy? Answer both questions, please."

After being so long in the fire, Starling was numb now. She was unable to make that connection between memory and emotion- she could remember feeling anger and pain, but it was simply empty echoes. When she answered him, all the pain that she no longer felt exited through her gaze, and Doctor Lecter devoured it, savoring the memories of crying and the taste of long-dried tears.

"Yes, I still think of her sometimes. When I'm doing laundry, or burning something in the kitchen. I don't take much from her, Doctor Lecter. Just an X chromosome. Possibly my temper."

"Speaking of your temper, Agent Starling, I bet you can be quite the force when you've a mind. You mentioned burning things in the kitchen. You can't cook?" Something about this amused him to no end. The seemingly benign question at least helped to cool her ire.

"I didn't exactly have a teacher for it. I never really cared enough to learn. Food is a means to an end. As long as it's edible, I'm doin' alright."

His amusemenmt only seemed to grow. "Eating can be a pleasurable experience, Clarice. Especially when done right. If you don't take pleasure in food, where, pray tell, do you?"

She was quick to shut him down.

"That has nothing to do with my mother, Doctor. Give me something I can use."

He looked as if he might push the question, but acquiesced. "Very well, Agent Starling. Our Buffalo Bill is really handy with a Singer. Quite talented, if I do say so myself."

Clarice scooped up her case materials and put them in her briefcase. She'd already lingered here too long. There was work that needed to be done. "Thank you, Doctor. You... will let me leave, I presume?" She glanced around the posh hotel room, the grandeur of the place not lost on her.

"Of course, Clarice. If you were to stay, it would be because you chose it."

Starling swallowed once. "And if I come back afterwards..."

"I will of course be gone."

She wanted, for an insane moment, to ask why. The word nearly popped from her mouth before she could stop it. Of course he would be gone. He was a wanted criminal. A dangerous, cannibalistic genius. Clarice, smart as she was, had lapsed in her estimation of just how dangerous by coming here tonight.

"This is the last time I'll see you again..." It was supposed to be a question, but lacked the proper inflection. It was monotone, flat... saddened, almost. He smiled just a bit.

"I wouldn't say that. There is always a possibility. Perhaps, after this case is completed, our friend Jack may recommend counseling. I find that an interesting, exhilerating notion. Don't you?"

She didn't answer, just stared at him, her lips barely parted. To have Hannibal Lecter inside her head? He would ruin her. Perhaps not completely. Clarice felt she had a fairly good hold on her own mental state. Though, if rumor was to be believed...

She smirked at him. Teasing danger. "You know where I work. Fax over your info. I'm open Tuesdays."

"Fax you my location so you can send your FBI dogs to get me, you mean."

The thought hadn't actually occured to her. She knew she should feel ashamed of that fact, but strangely, she didn't. Clarice gave him a half-smile. "I'm here right now, and didn't arrest you, even though I should. I'm already breaking the rules. Perhaps if I thought you could actually be taken in by FBI dogs."

"Well. I won't tell if you won't."

An odd sort of intimacy existed between them. An understanding that went beyond most other things. She doubted anyone else would understand. She didn't think she did herself.

"I won't tell," she promised. It was a promise for more than her rule-breaking. He understood.

"Why, Clarice? I could have killed you. I can still kill you now. We are far from Jack Crawford. I could easily best you. You know this."

"First, answer this question. You asked me where I take my pleasure." Her cheeks pinkened. "Where do you take your pleasure, Doctor Lecter?"

The fact that she'd asked the question seemed to bring him immense satisfaction. It radiated from the swirling depths of his eyes.

"Such a question, Clarice..."

Without further word, he retrieved a few rolled up pieces of parchment; ones that he had drawn while behind the glass. He didn't need to look at the images on them to find the one he wanted. He simply recognized it from the paper itself. He held out the rolled piece, gaze gleaming with something that made her simultaneously want to run away and to step closer.

"Don't open it now. I believe this will answer your question. After you solve the case, I will offer my services to you. I will not send anything through Quantico; rather, I'll come for you myelf." The words were heavy with implication.

"I'm always home," she murmured. Her words sounded weak.

He seemed, at that moment, almost gloating. Clarice was driven to say something, but kept quiet. Talking herself out of their plans would be far too easy for the rational mind, and she found that she didn't want that. She crossed to the door. Just before she crossed the threshold, he spoke one last time.

"Oh, Clarice. As a friendly warning. When I find you, you will answer any question I ask. It's the least you can do, seeing as though I'm providing top notch care, free of charge." His terms. She wouldn't be able to defer her answers like she'd done before. She nodded.

"Good. Soon, Agent Starling. Ta."

Going down the stairs and out the door was like going into another world. Color was drained, hearing was muted. Touches and smells were vague and unimportant. Once she reached her Pinto, Clarice climbed inside and shut the door, heedless of the little specks of rust that showered the dark, wet street. She laid the scroll across her lap, then slowly unrolled it, watching with wide eyes as a drawing of herself came into view.

The detail was exquisite. The shading was carefully, painstakingly done. In her arms was a small lamb, its mouth blessedly closed. For a quiet, contemplative moment, she didn't know what to say. Her eyes fell on a little scrap of paper that had fluttered beneath the steering wheel. Delicate script danced along the white surface. "People will say we're in love."

Carfully folding the paper, she stuck it in her glove box so that she wouldn't lose it, then rerolled the drawing. She'd get it framed tomorrow after work.

On her passenger seat, another piece of paper glared accusingly at her. "Get close to Lecter. Gain his trust. Then make the arrest." Krendler's name was signed at the bottom in a heavy, unkind hand.

She was only torn for a moment. Clarice took the orders and crumpled the paper, tossing it out of the window. It landed in a puddle and soaked up water immediately, disintegrating almost immediately. As far as Krendler was concerned, Lecter didn't trust her enough yet. That was all the report she was going to give him.

Starting the car, she took off down the street. Agent Starling had a job to do, after all. There was a young girl whose life was on the line, but Clarice was quite confident in the information that Doctor Lecter had given. The girl would be saved... And who knew. Maybe, counseling would begin soon. Today was Sunday. She had the next few days to contemplate it.


End file.
